


The Sea Spares No One

by Fireway



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Childbirth, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death, it's just straight up angst uhh sorry, lord of storm's end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-17 10:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18963280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fireway/pseuds/Fireway
Summary: Gendry moves on with his life as the lord of Storm's End.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> buckle up kids we're going to sadtown
> 
> If you would rather read the story in Russian, it has been translated by the wonderful @wiktoriatriggvi and can be found here: https://ficbook.net/readfic/8438813

Every night, Gendry looked on to the sea.

Sometimes the water was calm and still, and it put his mind at ease; more often the waves were high and sky was lit up by the flashing as the storms passed slowly by the castle. Those nights made Gendry anxious, restless; he knew how vulnerable one could be at sea. He could only pray for that his love was safe. Not that Arya had never been fond of “safe”, even the first day he met her, a scrawny little girl dressed as a boy, with fire and fear in her grey eyes starting a fight with a boy twice her size.

It made Gendry’s chest ache, as he thought how much easier everything had been for both of them if there never was a war. He knew his own existence was part of the problem, as well as the war had brought him to Arya, but part of him wondered what would have happened if there never was a war to make Arya grow cold and distant – would there be a world where he would have fallen for the little wolf of Winterfell and would he have been rejected as he asked to marry her.

His head was often filled with these what ifs, as if he didn’t have enough of those during the day as the Lord of Storm’s End. It wasn’t a position he had wanted, but eventually he had agreed to stay, as he was the last heir of House Baratheon and it seemed that as Arya had sailed away in silence, he had become prisoner of his own blood.

Weeks passed with every night Gendry looking out to the window, stuck in his ways as the world changed around him. King’s Landing was rebuilt, the North started trade with the Six Kingdoms, spring became summer and slowly he learned the letters and all that was expected from a high lord.

Gendry watched the full moons glimmering over the night sea, watched them change into the pitch blackness of new moons and with every new moon he prayed to whatever gods there were that Arya Stark would come back; at first, he went to restless sleep, dreaming of a ship topped over and small body crushed against the rocks of a unknown shore. Slowly, the dreams changed into a lady of her own will with flowers in her hair and a needle strapped on her waist walking to Gendry in a forest that reminded him of the forest they had stopped on King’s Road and in his dreams Gendry knew Arya had come back to him to marry him. Then, as a year passed, he just dreamed of a ship with direwolf head there in the dock of Storm’s End, as Arya returned – and in his dreams as she rejected his love, he was still glad she was back in Westeros, for before he had given his heart to her, she was his best and most trusted friend. He just wanted her back.

Slowly, she started to fade away from his dreams, as he couldn’t recall her face anymore, his dreams filled with his people, the things he had to go through daily, halls of Great Houses he visited and with that, he felt himself changing. Long gone was the bastard boy running the streets of Flea Bottom, but now there was a man, a lord carrying himself proudly, dressed in fine leathers, broad-shouldered and grim.

Still, even if he changed and forgot about the girl he hadn’t heard after she left, it took another five years before Gendry stopped interrupting Davos altogether when the man who had become like a father to him proposed marriages to strengthen house Baratheon’s power and reach.

As soon as the word spread that lord Gendry Baratheon was going to be wed to a lady, there was constant flood of families asking Gendry to visit for some stupid reason or a family that just happened to pass by King’s Landing and Gendry essentially had to throw a feast to remain his image of a man with manners.

Gendry saw dozens of pretty girls in their gowns and flirty smiles, but one in particular caught his eye; Orla of house Ferren. Orla was a maiden and seven years younger than Gendry. Her hair golden and eyes dark as the night sky, Orla was everything that Arya wasn’t; she was a proper lady, with western accent, giggling as Gendry asked her to walk with him. Orla loved talking, filling the twilight-lit sky with her stories of the Westlands and her younger sisters, as Gendry walked beside her, arms linked and realized he could love this girl with bright eyes and open heart.

It only took less than six moons before the bells of Storm’s End rung as Gendry and Orla were married, Gendry cloaking her with the bright yellow, the colours of House Baratheon Gendry had learned to like.

With the marriage, the next years were peaceful; Gendry didn’t have to worry about the constant asking of the house’s future and was left alone for quite a while, as Orla was pregnant with their firstborn.

Still, Gendry would look out every night before he laid next to her ladywife who was reading a book in the candlelight. Yet now when Gendry looked on to the sea, even if there was a twinge of loss in his heart every single time, he couldn’t quite place it – of course he knew it was Arya, but the wound had grown deeper, as the loss of Arya had mixed in with the stress of being a lord, losing his mother and all the terrifying memories of the war. So when Gendry sat next to her wife and took the book she handed to him, he felt content, and safe, and loved.

 

Four years after marrying Orla, Gendry had two daughters, their firstborn, Alyce, who had just turned three was a spitting image of her mother; golden curls long and smile wide as she ran through the courtyard to her father. The second daughter, Alara, was still only ten months cuddled up with her mother with thick, who was sitting in the shadow from the harsh sun that was a sign of a thunderstorm later that date. Gendry grabbed Alyce and lifted her a bit off the ground, spinning her around twice as the little girl giggled and tried to kick her way free as her father was still holding her playing the game they had played pretty much ever since Alyce had learned how to walk – and therefore try to run away and get in trouble even as a little rascal of three. It was one of those moments Gendry knew he would take with him to the grave, but mostly because the moment was just marked by the next, as Storm’s End’s maester rushed up to him with a piece of scroll in his hand.

“Lord Gendry, there are news.” Gendry could hear from the maester’s tone it was serious, so she let Alyce go and kneeled for a little bit in front of his daughter, voice gentle as he told her to go back to her mother – as she did, her father’s daughter through and through.

“What is it? Is Ser Davos alright?” Gendry asked as soon as he straightened his back to stand up, brows furrowed over the serious, yet worried eyes.

“Ah, yes, he was the one sending the raven. There has been word from Lannisport that Arya Stark’s ship’s wreckage was found some hours sail to the west.” The maester’s tone seemed serious, yet his old eyes showed wonder; why was Davos so quick to inform Lord Gendry of the passing of the daughter of a North? Gendry had never mentioned the girl to the maester, so it was surprising he was informed so quickly.

“… Alright. Thank you.” Gendry’s voice was calm as the sea behind him, almost eerily so, as the sky was preparing for a storm. The maester gave him a slight bow before excusing himself and Gendry turned to look to Orla. He gave her a slight nod to the side, silently informing her he had to go inside; Orla would probably just assume the maester had brought news that needed Gendry’s immediate attention.

At first, Gendry felt completely and utterly numb. The shadows of the halls were cold and long, as they tried to wrap around him, but Gendry moved through the halls. His feet found their way to the library, and then to the maester’s quarters.

“Can I see the scroll ser Davos sent?” He didn’t recognize his own voice.

The maester found the scroll easily, handing it to Gendry as he read it. He needed to see everything that was written, needed to see if there was any hope it was all just a misunderstanding, a mistake.

_Lord Gendry,_

_I am sorry to inform you that there was word from Lannisport today. A group of fishermen found a wreckage some hours away from the coastline in the west. The ship was recognized as the one Arya Stark left on, and the island close-by was searched for her or her crew. Nobody found was alive._

_Ser Davos Seaworth, The Master of Ships_

Surprisingly, that did not help.

Gendry tried to remember Arya but her memory was faded, almost like it had washed away with the sea that had taken her. It made Gendry’s chest ache with loss and sorrow, but his mind was still reeling; she was a survivor, she had survived more battles than Gendry wanted to know. There was no way she was lost at sea, not ever settling down in North with her family she had tried to reach for years but lost and alone in the waves. That couldn’t be true – it made Gendry’s hands shake, his throat tightening.

Gendry made his way to the stables, entering from the back and took out his favourite horse, a black, tall mare and readied it for himself in complete silence. Nobody even approached him, for the Lord of Storm’s End eyes were filled with anger that would put the storms that lasted weeks to shame.

Soon, Gendry rode out from the back gate, his hammer strapped to his back. The sun was still high in the sky when Gendry arrived to the nearby training grounds, were young boys, squires and warriors trained in the mornings, so everything that was there was strong enough to hit and if he did break them, nobody would miss them as there would just be a new dummy brought in.

 

Gendry spent almost an hour in the grounds, his hammer connecting again and again with the opponents made of hay or steel or wood, all taking his hits as he wanted all the anger and sorrow to bleed out of his system, leave without trace like Arya had once, years and years before. His skin was sweaty and his muscles were crying for a break, but it wasn’t until the cold rain hit him when Gendry’s knees gave up as he kneeled to the ground that was turning muddy.

Gendry felt like a hole had been pierced through him, like in the middle of his chest there was a gaping wound nobody could see our touch, but he felt it poisoning his blood and reaching for his heart. Gendry’s tears mixed with the water that ran down his face and with the pain and anger and all the lost he had ever felt, he screamed his lungs raw, cursing every god he remembered, cursing the sky and the sea that taken away the girl who had never deserved any of it.

 

 

Next moons went by in a haze. Gendry sent his regards to Queen Sansa. She didn’t reply.

Gendry went on with his life. Davos had a piece of the wreckage brought to him; part of the decorations of the ship, a part of a railing broken off, the direwolf head surrounded by something that could’ve been antlers if Gendry would have let himself think of them as such. Alara turned one, Alyce four. Gendry made trade deals, and stopped looking at the sea.

 

* * *

 

 

After two and a half years after Arya’s passing, Gendry had almost forgot about it all; he was focused on his daughters and growing family, as Orla was at the beginning of her third pregnancy. Being a lord came easily, it was just an endless stream of speeches and negotiations, feasting with other houses and making them respect him for his kindness and righteousness.

 

That came to an end, though – as soon as Gendry had found peace with himself, had forgot about the girl with grey eyes and tongue as sharp as her needle, he found himself gripping tighter to Orla’s hand, as she was lying in the pool of her own blood in the middle of nowhere; she wasn’t supposed to give birth yet and they were just getting back from a visit to Dorne. The backtown inn’s bedsheets were darkened by blood that was as pitch black as the midnight sea, and with that, Gendry watched his love be swallowed by the sea of darkness for the second time in his life.

When Gendry rode back to Storm’s End, he felt his heart growing cold, even as he was holding the warm bundle of love Orla had left to him.

The little boy was too little, and many were sure he wouldn’t survive the trip to Storm’s End. But Gendry knew the boy was a fighter, and as he rode in front of all his guards, his horse galloping with all it’s might, he prayed he could keep this one thing that still kept him loving and warm – he would not become like so many he had seen coping with loss with alcohol or with violence or with anger. Gendry refused to be like one of them.

And as the rode through the gates of Storm’s End, looking on to the sea behind the castle, he thanked every fucking god he could name, for the babe in his arms was still breathing, crying with cold and with hunger.

As Gendry handed the baby boy to the wetnurse who asked for the name of the babe, with tears in her eyes as she realized why the lord had ridden in with a tiny babe without his lady, Gendry could hardly find his own voice.

“Arry. I’ll name him Arry once he survives.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea truly spared No One. 
> 
> @ the comment who spoiled the idea of the second chapter, you had me in tears, thank you lmao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i just write 10k words extra chapter to a less than 2k oneshot chapter?

 

It took Gendry many moons to start sleeping again. He was exhausted and angry at the world for taking everyone he loved away, but poured all the energy and love to his children. He didn’t want to become a father who carried the children’s mother’s soul until he barely knew his children himself; so every night, he would gather her two baby daughters and son Arry to their chamber, that was facing his, and would tell them stories and read them books, until they fell asleep.

Then he would go to his room with Arry, who he kept with him because the babe was still small and weak, would put him to sleep and climb into his bed hours later with restless mind that wouldn’t let him sleep. Sometimes Alyce and Alara would sneak into his chambers in the morning hours because of nightmares and he would hold them until they were fast asleep again, guarding his children when the morning sun broke the darkness and rose from the sea.

Storm’s End had never felt quite as cold and lonely as those morning hours – not even when Gendry had first come to the castle years ago, without a clue of how to be a lord. Now, everywhere he looked, Orla’s memory lingered there – his bed felt cold, the seat next to him in the great hall was empty, as was his heart.

Then, finally, Gendry started to sleep again – the deep slumber felt comforting, and as he fell asleep he started dreading the next day that would be just as hard as the one before.

Alyce and Alara grew fast and Arry became stronger by the day, but Gendry could feel himself wasting away. The years and the depression strained his shoulders and wore him down day by day.

It wasn’t the man who had fought in the Battle of Winterfell or the one voting for king Bran the Broken, it wasn’t even the man who taught his daughters how to ride and read. He was a shell of himself, walking down the halls of Storm’s End like a lingering thunderstorm; everyone remembered his rage and power, yet knew he was not there fully anymore and wouldn’t ever be.

 

It was one of the bleak mornings after a storm that had been dragging over the castle for days. The sky was grey and it still smelled like rain. Gendry’s boots were muddy as he stood in the shadows of the courtyard, watching Alyce and Alara, now eight and almost six, were both standing in front of the stable master, who was letting them brush their shared pony. Alara was very fond of all animals she encountered, but Alyce seemed more interested in the riding aspect, especially if she was allowed to gallop when he took the girls to the forest with him.

“My lord! There is a ship approaching our dock!” A guard was jogging towards him, worry masking his green eyes.

“And we don’t know who it is?”

“No, ser. What order should be given?”

“Don’t attack unless they do. Let them dock, in case they are allies or if they just need to repair their ship. What flags did they go under?”

“Blanks. I’ll give the order, my lord.”

“Thank you. I’ll be down in the docs in a bit.” Gendry excused the guard and turned to look at his girls.

“Alyce! Alara! Come ‘ere.” He called out, the girls immediately giving the brushes away, the pony being taken away as the girls ran to their father, Alara’s little gown’s hem muddy and wet, as well as Alyce’s boots.

“Girls, you need to get inside. Go to the library to ask for a nice storybook for tonight, alright?” Gendry asked, Alara immediately starting to head inside but Alyce staid there, staring at her father.

“Is there danger? War?” Alyce asked, and Gendry cursed himself for ever telling his kids what he had gone through and what kind of battles house Baratheon had gone through in the history.

“No, silly girl. Just go inside, I need to go to the docs.” Gendry said, crouched to his firstborn’s level mushing her golden hair, smiling gently. “Make sure Alara doesn’t pick a book that is too scary for you.” With her important mission, Alyce ran off after her little sister.

Gendry grabbed his thicker coat for the docks were always windy and with two guards, made his way down the road to the docks behind the castle.

As Gendry was getting close to the dock, he saw the unknown ship pulling up to the dock, men on the boat waving their hands – they clearly weren’t here to attack. Gendry crossed his arms, and watched as his guard took a step forward.

“Whose ship is this?”

“We are a mixed crew, sailing from the west. ”

West – it was odd. They must have travelled around Dorne to get to Storm’s End, and if they were carrying supplies to King’s Landing or somewhere else in the east coast, it would’ve been faster to go through Westeros by foot and horses.

“Who’s your captain?” The guard asked, and Gendry walked toward the ship, looking at the ship that was clearly of western design, not made for the storms, yet made for longer distances. It wasn’t a fishing boat, that was for sure.

And as Gendry was looking up, his eyes caught a woman on the deck, coming to lean to the railing on the side.

Gendry gasped, as their eyes locked, the grey of the North meeting the blue of Stormlands. For a moment, his knees felt weak. Arya was standing there, still small but strong, her form sturdier and skin tan from years on the sea. Her hair had grown longer, but was braided to a loosened bun, Needle strapped to her waist.

Arya didn’t even look surprised, just a hint of a smirk playing on her lips.

Gendry couldn’t rip his eyes away, didn’t even realize his mouth had fell open. As soon as the ship had docked, Arya walked down from the ship with her crew. The guards of Storm’s End had seen their lord’s reaction, and stood ready, hands resting ready on the pommels of their swords.

“Stand down, they are friends.” Gendry barked an order, and Arya’s crew seemed to relax with that as well. Still, Gendry’s eyes returned to Arya who was now just a few meters away from him, stopping, face still and calm, yet her eyes hiding years worth of secrets.

“I see you’ve got yourself a nice castle.” Gods, Arya’s voice was comforting to hear after almost 12 years. She somehow seemed taller, more mature, her clothes loose and fit for sea travel, but made of good materials – expensive materials.

“Arya, I – I thought.. What are you doing here?” Gendry hated how unsure, small his voice sounded – part of him wondered if he was dreaming, if his mind could make such a lifelike imagine of Arya at 31, strong and beautiful as the warrior queen her direwolf had been named after.

“Well, you see, some people like to meet old friends.” Arya tilted her head slightly, eyeing up and down his guards before her grey eyes returned to Gendry. ”I can go, if you’re busy.” No, she couldn’t.

“Yes, sorry. Please, let’s get your men fed. Would you join me?” With that, Gendry’s guards started to move again, even if their eyes constantly were on Arya – the name was known all over Westeroes, she was the warrior woman of legends that were sung in taverns before her death – or that had been presumed her death.

Arya didn’t say a word, not bothering to answer to Gendry as she started to walk towards the castle, while Gendry’s heart seemed it was still thrumming a bit too fast due to the shock of the return of his dead friend. Or old friend, as Arya had labelled them.

 

Arya and Gendry made their way to the great hall of Storm’s End along with Arya’s crew. Her crew consisted of men and women, all looking strong and capable, with good swords and eyes that were deep as the ocean blue – Gendry couldn’t help but wonder what those eyes had seen, what had made them so sharp and observative.

Soon as everyone had a bowl of fish soup and bread in front of them, Gendry leaned a bit towards Arya, who was eating her food like she hadn’t had a proper meal in years.

“So… How did you end up in here?” Gendry started, his voice lowered, blue eyes staring at Arya who didn’t even look up from her food.

“Told you. Wanted to visit you.”

“It’s been 12 years.”

“Well, the years have been kind to you.” That made Arya finally look up, to catch Gendry’s expression twitching to surprise.

“… You, as well.” Gendry mumbled, continuing in the same breath, changing topics. “Everyone thought you were dead.”

“Why?” Arya seemed honestly confused, before her face lit up. “Oh. The shipwreck. They found it?” Arya asked, slowing down with her meal.

“They did. How did you survive that? Haven’t you been to Westeros after that? To restock? Or trade?” Gendry’s questions made Arya’s eyes darken as her eyes jumped to here crew for a second who were clearly listening to their conversation, even though some of them talked quietly amongst themselves.

“I just did. I did come to Westeros, though. Just didn’t say who I was, I guess. Kept people away.” Arya’s answer wasn’t the full truth, Gendry could feel it in her words that she only told a little sliver of the truth. It didn’t feel like ae lie, though.

“Why? Why not tell your name?”

“Names have power. I didn’t need that.” Arya’s answer was far simpler than Gendry would’ve liked. He remembered Arya telling him little pieces of the faceless men, the “no ones” and Jaqen, who only needed names to get people killed.

Gendry also remembered Arya almost switching between personas; the no one, moving quietly in the shadows, dagger on her hip and her heart hidden away under a stone mask, and on the other hand, Arya Stark, who had called him stupid, laughed against his lips and whispered soft praises to his ear as he made love to her for the first time.

“… So, are you here to restock? And go back?” Gendry asked after a long, stretched out silence. He could see Arya pause at the question, tearing her bread in half and popping it to her mouth to get herself time to answer.

“No, actually. Was planning on staying here.” Arya said, weighing every syllable.

“In Westeros?” Gendry asked, his fingertips mapping out the patterns on the wooden table, until Arya spoke, making his fingers stop as if they had hit a wall.

“Well, more like _here_ here. If you’d have me.” Arya suggested, her eyes observing his features, so they wouldn’t miss the tiniest little change.

“… In Storm’s End? Aren’t you going to go back to your family, in North?” Gendry questioned, the confusion and some sort of old, almost forgotten bitterness weighing his voice down.

“It’s not my family anymore. Well, it is. But Sansa has her own from what I’ve heard, Gods know what’s Jon doing. And Bran – is not Bran. Here I could be of some use.” Arya said after a brief consideration yet continued smoothly. “I wasn’t thinking you’d manage being a lord this well. I was thinking about if you needed a advisor. I’ve got some experience on the sea, as well as I need to be recording everything from the West. Might as well do it here.”

It made sense – yet it felt cold, distant. Gendry knew Arya had plenty the wits that he would need and would be an excellent part of his advisors, but some old ache in his chest made him stop.

“Arya, I – I appreciate it. But are you sure? You’ve left before.” Gendry’s words made Arya stop mid-movement, the woman slowly putting her spoon back to the bowl.

“I know, and I won’t say I’m sorry even if it made both of us hurt. It was necessary, then.”

“Was it? Or did you just escape, in case you had actual, real attachment to someone?” The bitterness made Gendry’s words taste toxic even in his own mouth, and part of him wanted to see Arya realize how she had hurt Gendry all those years ago. Yet, the anger of the stormlands lord was answered only with the calm of the sea.

“Yes, I won’t deny that. I was scared, just a girl with blood on her hands with no sense of… Who I was supposed to be. I chose to chase the dream I had once, but my years didn’t go to waste. It allowed me to figure it all out – and probably, you, too.” It annoyed Gendry deeply – she was right, but he didn’t want to hear it. Gendry let out a small sigh, shaking his head.

“It doesn’t give me back the years I spent staring at the ocean, wishing you’d come back to me.”

With that, Arya’s eyes softened, yet with gentleness came sorrow.

“No, it doesn’t.” Arya’s voice was lower now; not fragile, but lower like a whisper, as if the voice had come closer to her heart, farther from her head. There was a long silence, as Arya kept staring at Gendry, but the blue irises were now kept turned away, until Arya spoke again. “You’ve become a great lord. Did you have someone helping you? Davos?” she questioned, trying to break the ice – there was irony hidden in that, somewhere.

“… Yes, Davos helped me the first few years. The maester, Colton Pyne, helped as well, taught me to read and such.”

“Do you know how to use a fork--” Arya started, but Gendry interrupted her, blue eyes now sharply looking at her features.

“And when I was wed to Orla, she helped me as well. Born as a lady, she knew people of Stormlands and how to make them happy.” Gendry knew his words were there just to aggravate Arya, to get anger or jealousy out of her – something he could grab, something that would feed his own bitterness. But none came, as after a silence, Arya, ever so calm, nodded and then spoke.

“Does she make you happy?”

It crushed Gendry’s heart – she wanted her to swore, wanted her to say she wanted him to wait, which he could argue against – but none came, no namecalling or curses, just a understanding and a question for Gendry’s happiness, like it was the first thing that popped into Arya’s head, when Gendry knew it wasn’t; she hadn’t cared for his heart or happiness the day she boarded her ship.

“Yes, very much so.” Gendry’s voice almost broke – almost. Arya looked at him for long, and Gendry knew she had seen something, whether it was his eyes or his voice or the way his fingertips tapped anxiously the table, she had noticed how the memory of Orla hacked away Gendry’s heart.

“That’s good. I’m happy you found her, then.” Arya said, Gendry quickly trying to change the topic, and even if it was clearly noted by Arya, she let Gendry do so; maybe she had softened with the years as well.

“How about you then? You’ve come far from the dirty brat I saw in King’s Landing. Or even the girl who plunged a knife at the Night King.”

“Well, you know – west. Saw some amazing things, some not so much. Got a wicked sunburn the first year, too.”

“You seriously mean to tell me you found something in west?” Gendry asked, brows raised. “And lived to tell the tale.”

“Yeah, Westereros. Resteros.” There was a playful smirk on Arya’s lips, and for a second, with Arya smiling at him and joking around like she used to, Gendry wondered if her lips still tasted the same, or did the sea air stain them. Gendry shoved that thought out of his head as soon as he realized his mind playing it’s old, dirty tricks on him, thankfully Arya continuing. She tapped the man sitting next to her, even if she had to lean towards him quite a bit, and nodded towards Gendry, brows raised. The man looked at his captain, then Gendry and then moved to sit closer to Arya, to enter her and Gendry’s conversation.

“This is Dwan Hill. Picked him up from Lannisport when I was setting sail. He’s been through it all, and more if you think about all the coin he put in whorehouses.” Arya’s light, joking stab at the man made him laugh, Dwan grinning to Arya before turning to Gendry.

“It’s an investment, I’m telling you.” Arya rolled her eyes and then continued.

“Yeah, we did find land in the West. Turns out, you can go around and end up in the East, but that’s only what the people in Westlands told us.”

“People?” Gendry said, bewildered.

“Yeah, people like us. Just didn’t have ships for long distances, seemed pretty content with themselves. Some had been to Essos, but not many. The biggest island was in south-west, the people were kind of a mix between Bravosi and Dothraki and even Dornish.”

“Nice lot, most of them. Pretty different way of living, but not bad if you were born there.” Dwan said, after drinking down a cup of dark ale.

“And getting there took you … Years?”

“Well, about 4 or 5 moons. There was a small island after… I think 2 moons of sailing, with a lot of shipwrecks. I guess that’s where all the others who went exploring ended up. Some reached Westlands, though, the people clearly had seen people from Westeros with big ships.” Arya said, her eyes turning almost dreamy, longing as she spoke.

“… And what happened to your ship? The one that was found?” Gendry asked, making Arya snap back to reality. That’s when Dwan looked at Arya, as well, under his blonde brow.

“… There was a storm, when we were about to sail back to Westeros and restock and inform the Westerosi what we had found and then return.” Arya’s eyes darkened for a bit, then she changed topics easily, dropping all the weight that dragged her tone before, even if her tone was kept serious.

“But we figured that we couldn’t stay in Westlands, guess we brought some sickness with us. Babes were dying when mothers that we came in contact gave birth. Later it spread to men and women and we knew we couldn’t stay.”

“That why you came back here?” Gendry said, raising his chin a little bit – a challenge.

“… No. We could’ve sailed to Westeros and to Essos and back, could’ve done that for the reset of our lives. But the winds called for me to return home.” Arya bit back, but her tone wasn’t as annoyed as Gendry would’ve guessed.

“… We sailed to the volcanic isles, as well. Some say that’s where the dragons came, sprouting inside a volcano as earth birthed them. No dragons, though. Just ash and black, crumbling stone.” Dwan interrupted Arya and Gendry, as if he hadn’t noticed the tension in the air. Gendry started to understand, why Dwan seemed like Arya’s first-hand man; Gendry wondered if he also warmed her bed. Before Gendry had time to say anything that would leave to someone getting gutted, one of the guards who usually followed his daughters around, peeked his head through the door and called to Gendry.

“My lord, could you come with me? There is no rush, per se, but..”

Gendry was already on his feet when he recognized the guard. He turned to Arya, who seemed surprised, but not in any way angered by the interruption.

“We can talk later. Storm’s End offers you and your crew it’s hospitality.” Gendry promised, then walking to his guard, who led Gendry towards the library.

“Lady Alara dropped something and wouldn’t stop crying, she was asking for you. I’m sorry for interrupting--” The guard explained, but as soon as he mentioned Alara was crying, Gendry practically bolted to the library.

“It is alright, thank you.” Gendry said, the guard following him to the room filled with old books, and as soon as the door creaked open, Gendry could hear his daughter sniffling.

Gendry walked towards the noise, finding the girl with long braids sitting with her hands in front of her, the wetnurse that was helping with the children trying to make her stop crying.

“You can’t cry for your father for the rest of your life, now let’s clean this up and …”

“She is six, she can.” Gendry said, annoyed, glaring at the wetnurse, an older woman who was not very fond of Gendry; she had been serving Orla’s family before arriving to Storm’s End, and did not like the way Gendry ruled.

“My lord, she can’t think she can just interrupt your meetings with a few tears.”

“Is she hurt?”

“My lord--”

“Is she _hurt_?” Gendry said through his teeth, slowing down every word. When the woman, Gaila, shook her head slowly, Gendry kneeled to the side of Alara, taking her small hands to his own.

“It’s alright, little deer” Gendry comforted her, one arm around the girl. He had already seen some of the already cleaned mess, and guessed the thing Alara had broken was an old glass ornament that had been collecting dust on top of one of the tables for years and it really wasn’t a big deal. Gendry knew that Alara, even at six, knew that too, but ever since the kids’ mother had died, Alara had been prone to crying and getting upset over things that made no sense to Gendry, but he couldn’t just abandon his daughter with the upset. Alyce was taking it a lot better; she wanted to be strong, protect her younger siblings with fierce that could only come from Gendry.

Alyce and Alara were the daughters of Storm’s End, the girls with golden locks and hearts, who carried their mother’s soul with them. The woman Gendry had learned to love, only after shutting his heart out from the world after the one his heart had chosen to love, who hadn’t chosen him.

Alara calmed down eventually, Gendry carrying her with one arm, taking Alyce’s hand with his free one. Gendry walked to the children’s bedchambers that they still shared, though he had promised Alyce she would get her own chambers as soon as she wanted.

Gendry put Alara to bed so the girl could sleep a little after getting upset and sat with Alyce, who started asking questions as soon as Alara was under the warm wool blankets, fast asleep.

“Who’s the lady with a skinny sword? I saw her, I saw her from the window.” Alyce shot, staring at her father with her blue eyes with all the curiosity that could fit into her 8-year-old mind. Gendry sighed.

“… That’s Arya Stark.”

“Arrya?” Alyce tried her name on her tongue.

“No, not Arry. Arya. One “r”.” Gendry said, a small smile escaping on his lips; he wished he was back in the time he was traveling with the little girl dressed as a boy everyone called Arry, even if Gendry knew thee truth. It was simpler time – even if there was constantly someone to chop off Gendry’s head and a crazy witch going after his blood. Still, simpler.

“But who is she?” Alyce asked, after trying out the strange northern name a few times.

“An old friend.”

“From where?”

“She’s northern, but I know her from King’s Landing.”

“Before the war?”

Gendry nodded to Alyce, then mushing her hair gently, making the little girl giggle and try to get his hand away from her blonde curls that had been brushed straight in the morning.

“Let’s let your sister sleep. Go ask Merra if she has any apples for your pony.”

 

Gendry spent the rest of the day hosting Arya and her crew as a good lord should; he kept his distance to Arya when he showed them the pride of Storm’s End, the forge, and showed them the grounds, directed them to the guesthouse they could sleep in and told them about the latest happenings in Westeros.

The whole time, Gendry could feel Arya’s eyes on him. He looked at anything but her.

It was surprisingly easy to do so – until Gendry caught Arya looking over to the courtyard as they passed the window in the hall, almost all of Arya’s crew had stayed behind at that point so they were practically alone. Outside, Alyce was circling some poor guard and asking him something, and as Gendry’s eyes followed Arya’s and returned to see the look on Arya’s face, she was already looking at him.

“Is she yours?” Arya asked, voice curious, brows raised.

“Yes, my firstborn. Alyce.” Gendry answered, a hint of nervousness in his voice, even if he ecouldn’t figure out why, exactly – he was used to parading his kids around loud and proud.

“She’s beautiful. Not taking after you, I guess.” Arya noted, her steps slowing down before she stopped at the next window, grey eyes following the little girl on the yard.

“You’re saying I’m not beautiful?” there was familiar lightness in his tone, but then he spoke again, tone returning to more serious, gravelly one. “But yes, she does. As does her younger sister.”

“You got two? What’re their names?” Arya asked, and again, part of Gendry wanted her to be jealous, throw accusations at him, but again – none came.

“Three. That one there is Alyce. Her little sister is Alara.” Gendry hesitated for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek for a second, knowing Arya noticed the stretched silence. “And my youngest, Arry. He’s only a babe, but growing stronger by the day.” Gendry saw a slight smile lift the corner of Arya’s mouth as she turned to look at him.

“Arry?” Her tone was teasing, yet it seemed like she was surprised. Gendry was silent, though, blue eyes following Alyce through the glass.

“You’ve got none of your own?” Gendry asked, eyes dropping to Arya, whose mouth now moved into a tight line.

“None of my own. Used to have… Used to have two boys with me.” Arya said, her tone changing into the one Gendry found himself hating; one that seemed more distant, as if it wasn’t quite Arya talking. Gendry knew it meant he wasn’t supposed the push the matter discussed any further.

But she had never done exactly wished, either.

“Which boys?” Gendry asked, Arya’s eyes moving to the few men in her crew that were still accompanying them. Gendry’s blue eyes followed here distressed ones and took the hint, nodding towards the nearby door.

“Maybe we should sit down to talk.”

With that, the two walked to the study not too far away, Arya being the first one to slump to one of the cushioned chairs. Gendry asked a passing kitchen girl to get them both a cup of hot tea, if they had time, since they were already preparing a small feast for their surprise guests.

 

It took a long time for Arya to start talking, but as she was nursing the teacup between her hands, Gendry was really looking at her, maybe for the first time after her return. Of course, Gendry had noted she was beautiful, with her hair grown long and eyes still the same shade of grey, but now as he properly looked, he saw a small scar on the top of her cheekbone, saw that her left brow had a small burn scarring, even if the brow hairs covered most of the mark. She looked older, as if she was carrying years of wisdom with her, her hands more steady and mind calmer.

Then, she spoke.

“Gendry, I truly am sorry it took me this long to come back.” Arya started, looking at Gendry who had been watching her face closely, now Gendry’s eyes jumping to Arya’s. “I won’t say leaving was a mistake, but leaving without you, was.”

Gendry didn’t want to hear it. He looked away, fingertips drawing patterns to the hot surface of the mug.

“You were telling me about your wards?” Gendry insisted, slowly turning his eyes to look at Arya again, now sharper, colder; it was what being a lord had made him, what her leaving had made him.

“… Yes. One of my crew got a ironborn lass with a child. We were passing Iron Islands, meant to just restock when my mate was told the girl died in childbirth. The babe was tiny, nameless little bastard. My mate was northerner, and named it Robb with my approval. Wanted it to grow up to be the king of whatever lands we’d find in the west.” Arya started, talking slowly, lost in her memories. “Robb had an older brother we took with us, it’s not like that boy had parents, either. Waylar, fancy name for a boy with sea-stained rags and hungry belly. They sailed with us to the West, Robb was turning two.”

“But we told you about the storm, eh? Wind caught the ship, toppled it over. Robb died as soon as he hit the water, poor boy. Most of my crew, too. There were rocks all over and the storm was throwing them around like little lady’s ragdolls.” Gendry could see how Arya’s face broke, her lower lip trembling a bit as she spoke, but Gendry saw her biting it, hard, before she continued, voice strong as ever.

“When we got to the island, I had Waylar on my back, two of my crew and Dwan. One of them died on that beach, and was taken by the waves soon after.” Arya took in a lungful of air, as if she didn’t want to continue – and then, Gendry saw it, just a glimpse that lasted for a second; Arya put her mask on. It was no mask of one’s face, but it was made of stone and stele, unchanging and cold. It was something Arya called a No One. Then the mask started talking, as if Arya had never been there, voice softening and lip trembling.

“Waylar died the next night, too much water in his lungs. Dwan tried emptying the lungs, but he was just a boy of ten and one – not meant for sea. The other crew member… Disappeared the next night, even if it wasn’t that big of an island. He was a cunt, anyway, saw him kick someone off his barrel he was hanging on to. Dwan and I stayed alive, strangely. I was saying my goodbyes, when a Westerosi ship passed and spotted us. Dwan thanked the gods and the people on the ship for the whole journey back to Westeros. And there we got a new crew and decided to sail back.”

Gendry thought Arya would have continued. But the room stayed silent, until he spoke, voice lowered.

“So even death wouldn’t get you to return to me.” Gendry said, knowingly trying to mimic the tone Arya had used; cold, far away from anything he held dear. And it worked; Gendry saw Arya’s face twist a little bit, the stone layer dropping piece by piece.

“No, no. That was when I lost the family I had forced myself. I couldn’t lose another.”

“ _Family_?” the word felt like a curse coming from Gendry’s mouth – it tasted like venom. “You didn’t want to be my family, last I checked.” Gendry wanted to get out of the room, tell Arya to fuck off back to the sea – and yet, he couldn’t.

“No, I did. I just never wanted to be your lady.” Arya said, and finally, finally Gendry saw the angry kid he had named Arry after, the thick, dark brows furrowed and knuckles white as she was pressing her fingertips to the cushions, annoyed.

“Same difference.”

“Not it fucking isn’t. Lady is what you have, a pretty girl with golden hair who gives you heirs and daughters.” Arya cursed, and for a moment Gendry was reminded Arya was the daughter raised in the direwolf den, teeth bared and eyes wild with anger.

“Lady is what I have by my side, whatever comes. Not one who runs away the second they get scared of getting attached.” Gendry barked, and against everything he had been taught, he turned his back to the angry she-wolf and walked out of the door.

 

* * *

 

Gendry didn’t see Arya for a full day after that – he said he didn’t feel well and passed on the feast, staying in the children’s bedchambers reading to them to ignore everything.

His night was restless; the old memories flooded back and more than once Gendry jumped up from his bed in cold, clammy sweat of nightmares about the sea, about Arya, about the woman who wore Arya’s face with grace and switched to the real, true Arya every now and then.

The morning sun was rising when Gendry finally went back to sleep, this time the deep slumber welcoming him into it’s depths, as he slept dreamlessly, not wanting to go back to the mess that was his life, all with a single ship he had waited for a lifetime that now seemed like the worst thing to happen to him ever since his lover died.

 

When Gendry finally dragged himself awake, it was already almost midday – the good thing about being a lord was he could sleep in if there wasn’t anything urgent to attend to. Gendry dressed himself slowly, not wanting to face the world behind his door, but eventually he had to. Gendry made his way down the stairs and towards the kitchens. He greeted the head chef, who fixed him a plate that was somewhere between a lunch and a breakfast, with bread and meat and a light ale. Gendry took it with him outside and sat on one of the dry spots on an empty wagon, watching as his daughters were following maester Pyne with bright eyes and wide smiles. It warmed his heart, but then his peace was shattered by a familiar voice from his side. Voice, that was supposed to make him jump from joy, but now it just felt like ripping open an old wound and splashing sea water in it.

“Mornin’.”

Gendry didn’t look at Arya, stubbornly.

“You gone deaf, too?”

“I wouldn’t speak to the lord catering to you like that.” Gendry felt bad saying it – but he knew it hurt Arya, as well. Especially when she didn’t say anything back for a while. He had never wanted to be a lord, not without her.

“… Have you thought about my proposal?” Arya finally asked and Gendry could feel her eyes boring into his face from the side – yet he still didn’t turn to look at her.

“The advisor one?”

“I haven’t heard other proposals being thrown around, no.” Arya said with a tone that could be joking – or not. Gendry didn’t want to take his chances. And he was mad at her, he reminded himself.

“… I’ve given it some thought, yes.”

“And?”

“You would be an excellent advisor, that I know. You have experience of both taking care of a castle, but also military and sea experience. Those things are invaluable.” Gendry stated the facts, cold and strategizing.

“I feel like there is a “but” coming.” Arya sighed and with the next words she got his eyes on her. “Is it your ladywife? Doesn’t want an extra woman around you?”

Gendry snarled at her.

“It isn’t that. It is that I don’t know if I can’t trust you, if one morning I just wake up to you not showing up to a meeting.”

“I promise, that won’t happen. I’ve found my place.”

“That’s what one would have thought when you got to Winterfell. To your family. After years.“ Gendry spat back, annoyed how calm Arya was, again. He wanted her to go for his throat, rip open his deepest scars so he could tell her to fuck off.

“It was no home after everything. The ground was soiled with blood of innocents, the stones stained with war and fear.” Gendry knew the words Arya spoke were true. He sighed, rubbing his temple.

“You’d stay here, with me?”

“If you would allow me to do so.”

“… Alright.”

When Gendry turned to look at Arya again, he saw her eyes were filled with a strange look, something that resembled happiness, as if he had just offered her a cure to her homesickness. Still, Arya kept her composure otherwise, and even if a smile crept on her lips, she bowed.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Don’t call me that.”

 

* * *

 

The next day, Arya was given her own bedchambers from the advisor wing, and she hauled her things there. Gendry was overseeing it, leaning onto the doorframe as Arya was carrying heavy boxes and trunks around with Dwan, who was going to sail to north to meet the maesters and tell them everything they had gathered on their years at sea.

Gendry’s eyes constantly snapped onto Arya, and it annoyed him deeply. He did not want to wake the feeling that lied deep within his heart, but whenever Arya had those little moments that reminded Arya of the orphan boy Arry, or the highborn girl in breeches, Arya Stark, or even the Kingslayer Arya Stark of Winterfell, his chest ached.

 

When Dwan finally left the chambers, Gendry stepped in as Arya was unloading her clothes, though they were quite spare, to a drawer pushed under the window, overlooking the sea. Gendry made his way to sit down on her bed, watching Arya work. It did not help the aching in his chest that had introduced itself the night before, when he had joined Arya’s crew for a drink in the Storm’s End’s tavern Drunk Stag, and had watched her laugh and joke with her men like the old times.

To distract his stupid heart, he spoke.

“So, we are having a meeting in a few days, as soon as ser Alvar returns from King’s Landing.”

“Ser Alvar?”

“One of my advisors, he’s been in charge of training the guardsmen.”

Arya didn’t answer to that, but Gendry caught her eyes side-eyeing him.

“Talking about training, are you still waterdancing?”

“.. Yes, why? It’s not something you stop, unless you stop swinging a sword completely.”

“I think my oldest daughter would like to learn it.” That clearly surprised Arya – her eyes turned to Gendry sharply, studying his features.

“You’re letting your daughter swing a sword?”

“It’s not like she’s too young. Most boys start at eight or earlier.” His answer clearly pleased Arya, who smiled smugly to herself, but nodded.

“It’d be my honour, my lord. When can I meet this little fighter lady?”

Gendry grimaced at the honorific, yet a tiniest hint of a smirk rose to his lips.

“We can go meet her as soon as you’re ready with your gown-sorting, my lady.”

“Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

“Father, will you make me a Needle?” Gendry had known it would happen, but he still smiled to Alyce feigning surprise to her request.

“It’s sharp. But I will make one for you once Arya thinks you can have one, hm?” Gendry suggested, looking up to Arya and gave a short shake of his head – he wouldn’t have Alyce have a sword on her for at least a year, maybe two. Arya gave him a short smile, then looking down to Alyce, kneeling down and drawing Needle from her waist. Gendry eyed the old weapon critically as Arya explained something to Alyce.

 

Alyce absolutely adored Arya – she was a warrior of legends, strong and knew how to fight and that was all Alyce needed. Some part of Gendry had wished his daughter wouldn’t have liked Arya, so he could blame that for always keeping Arya at arm’s length these past few days after her comeback from the dead.

“That sword seriously needs a whetstone.” Gendry muttered when Arya sent Alyce to fetch herself and Arya a wooden sword. Arya looked at Gendry, tilting her head a bit, almost like calculating.

“Would you do it? There’s no one else I’d let touch the Needle.”

“Oh, that’s why it’s in such a shit condition.”

“Hey, don’t be rude, it’d still put a bunch of holes into you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Do you want it to be?”

Gendry rolled his eyes and took the thin, long sword, heading to the forge as Alyce ran back to Arya, eyes bright as Arya started talking.

 

* * *

 

Meeting Alessa was a small win for Gendry; the girl was sitting having her hairs braided, humming an old melody from a song that Orla had taught her when trying to get the girls to sleep. With that making Gendry’s soul cry out to the one he had lost and Alessa being very unlike Arya, almost resembling a more jumpy version of young Sansa, based on what Arya told him later, there was a lot more tension when Gendry walked in with Arya on his heels.

“Alessa?” Gendry called out, his voice gentler with his little deer, whose brown eyes were striking image of her late mother’s.

“Father! Look, look!” The girl pointed at her braided hair, but stopped on her tracks when she saw the unknown lady standing stone-faced behind her father. Alessa stared at Arya, who smiled way too late to the shy, who was already grabbing her father’s coat.

“Alessa, honey. This is Arya Stark, she’ll be advising me.” Gendry introduced, petting the soft, golden curls as Arya crouched to the six-year-old’s level.

“So you are Alessa? My, your braid is pretty.” It sounded weird coming from Arya’s mouth, something so shallow. It didn’t work on Alessa, either, who just mumbled a thanks and as soon as Arya straightened when she didn’t get a proper answer, Alessa was already gone.

“She’ll warm up to you. It took her three moons to even start talking to a new girl in the kitchens.” Gendry said, almost stopping himself from comforting Arya – it was like Arya needed to be babied.

 

* * *

 

Arya only met the infamous Arry that evening, when the boy of three years was sitting next to Gendry at dinner. The boy looked serious even at his young age, dark brows and hair making him a spitting image of Gendry. Arya was seated on the other side of Gendry, Alessa sitting on Gendry’s other side and Alyce on Arya’s side, constantly asking her questions about the sea and water-dancing, especially before Arya corrected that water-dancing had nothing to do with the sea.

The air was surprisingly free, as Gendry was focused on making sure Arry was getting most of the food into his mouth and not on the ground for the hunting hounds to eat later, until Arya looked up to Gendry under her brow when they were already finishing dinner.

“I’ve been wondering these past days, where is lady Baratheon? Is she away?” As soon as those words left Arya’s lips, Gendry felt a stab of sadness in his chest, looking at Alessa who was staring at her plate, clearly becoming more and more upset, as well as Alyce who had grown silent. Thankfully, Arry hadn’t been paying attention.

“Girls, will you be so nice and take your plates to the kitchens? And remember to say thank you, lady Dyanne has been kind to us with this meal.” Gendry urged his kids out of the conversation, an apologetic look flashing on Arya’s face as she saw how upset the whole family got at the mention of the children’s mother and Gendry’s wife.

 

It took a while, without Gendry saying a word and just helping the girls clean up, while his and Arya’s plates were still at the table when Alyce asked Arry to carry his own drinking cup with him to the kitchen, leaving the adults in the great hall alone.

Gendry stared at the door until it clicked closed, then looked at Arya and sighed deeply.

“I guess… I guess I should have said it already. Lady Orla died in childbirth. Three years ago.” Gendry said, the old sorrow singing it’s ancient song in his voice, as Arya clearly was counting the age or Arry and then his wife’s time of death.

“I’m sorry, Gendry. I truly am.” Arya said, voice low and grey eyes sad for his loss, as he reached to put her hand on top of the one he was resting on top of the table.

As soon as her hand touched his, even as the waves of sadness that once felt like they ewer swallowing him whole and were now just small, annoying things at his feet, seemed to wash away, a spark of electricity, like one from a storm with lighting that set trees ablaze. Gendry looked up to Arya, something disgustingly familiar fluttering in his belly as he put his own hand on top of Arya’s, squeezing softly.

“Thank you, Arya. I appreciate it.” It was all he could manage to answer, Arya nodding slowly – she knew how it was to lose your own mother and family. She had been there, Gendry reminded himself, going back to the day the orphan “boy” Arry had told him, that her father’s head was the one on pike for treason and he had been there.

Gendry buried his feeling deep within his heart, and after a while he retreated his hands to take hold of his plate and drink the cup of ale empty.

“I should go, I need to make sure the children are off the bed. I’ll meet you tomorrow.”

“Sleep well.”

“You as well, Arya.”

 

* * *

 

It took another year for Gendry and Arya grow familiar with each other. It took many days spent arguing on trade or the taxing and many nights spent talking, walking through their memories, sometimes shared and sometimes alone.

It was the first time Gendry and Arya had time; they didn’t have anyone chasing after them, no another king’s or queen’s war to fight for them. All they had time.

They spent that time talking, on horseback laughing at something Lommy or Hot Pie had said, in the other’s chambers with Arya sitting on a table and Gendry on bed like the old days, talking shit on everyone in the castle and a few others. Sometimes Arya would entertain both Gendry and the children with her stories on the sea, and when Alyce, turned nine, was there alone, Arya would even tell her tiny parts of the Battle of Winterfell and the Battle of King’s Landing.

Then, there were nights when Arya wandered to Gendry’s chambers, her eyes panicked the first time, only weeks after coming to King’s Landing. Arya’s nightmares woke her up screaming, and Gendry wondered if it was because she was more in touch with her original side than ever, as day by day she stripped away the layers of No One. Those nights, Arya sitting on Gendry’s bed and Gendry’s hand on her leg or shoulder, thumb tracing little patterns on her skin, Arya would tell her of the time she spent alone, on streets of King’s Landing, as a No One, and finally, one night, the things she had seen on the streets of King’s Landing as the Dragon Queen’s rage burned everything and everyone around her to ash. It was the first time Gendry saw Arya cry.

 

They fell into a comfortable rhythm they had when they were still young; a balance of laughter and jokes, turning into bickering and annoying each other. And with each day, Gendry felt himself growing stronger, as if the power that had been taken away from him years ago was slowly returning to his veins. It felt like coming home.

Arya rode North four moons after coming to the stormlands; she wanted to meet her nieces she had heard so much about from Sansa. Gendry had waved her goodbye at the gate feeling anxiety coil in his guts as he wondered if she’d come back this time.

She did. And when she did, Gendry was there with open arms, welcoming his dearest friend back.

 

It wasn’t until it was one especially tense day he and Arya had spent hunting, when the sparks that had been there ever since the first week after Arya had returned really set aflame.

It started with Arya shoving Gendry as he was annoying Arya about something that they both knew was stupid and the first thing Gendry realized was his lips on Arya’s, a soft gasp escaping her mouth. He didn’t know who was the one to kiss the other ( - he knew it was him - ) first, but neither pulled away until they needed air, gasping. Blue and grey met each other, bewildered and the next thing Gendry felt was Arya on him, pushing him against a tree, smile spreading to her lips against his mouth as his hands feverishly mapped her body under the hunting leathers, cold fingertips sliding under the cloth and making her laugh.

It was a sound Gendry wouldn’t change for anything.

 

That night, when they returned to Storm’s End, Arya had pulled him to her bedchambers and the door had barely been closed as his breeches were off and he was pulling on Arya’s shirt over her head.

He knew he should’ve stopped himself, regretted it all, but in that moment nothing mattered like tasting Arya again, to see if she sung as sweet as she did all those years ago.

 

* * *

 

Gendry and Arya spent almost a whole two moons sneaking around, quick kisses exchanged in the shadows and hands wandering in meetings when nobody was looking.

Then, as Arya was laying next to Gendry in his bed, his coat as her blanket, Gendry turned to look at the woman he had fallen for, again. His hand wandered up from her hipbone to her lower ribs. Gendry leaned softly against her, kissing his way up from her shoulder to her neck and behind her ear, making Arya gasp between breaths.

“Not that I want anything to change, but where is this going?” Gendry murmured against the soft skin behind Arya’s ear, his nose tickling the curve of her ear. Gendry was sure Arya would freak out and get away, which is why his touch lingered on her ribs, ready to pull her back to bed if she would try to escape his question.

Yet, she didn’t. Gendry saw a curve of a smile curl Arya’s lip up and then she turned to look at him, soon pushing herself up and straddling Gendry, knees on the sides of his hips as she stared down at the man she had come back to over a year ago.

“Where do you want this to go? Keep it a secret, have a swoon-worthy affair from a maiden’s dirty dreams, or…?” Arya asked, smiling as Gendry’s hands came to rest on her hips, as he studied her features. This was the longest they had been together like this, two months full of pleasure and dirty secrets whispered into each other’s ears.

“… Arya, I – I want you.”

“That much is obvious.” Gendry grimaced at that, but Arya just laughed softly, leaning down to press the softest of kisses on his lips, kissing him long and gentle. “I want you as well.”

“You know what I mean. I feel.. Bad for sneaking around, for the children’s sake. And my own. I want to have you with me, not in the shadows hidden away.” Gendry started, his gut tightening as he grew nervous with his own words.

“Mmh, I understand. But… You know I am no lady. Won’t ever be, even if things have changed.” Arya said, her voice soft, almost apologetic as her fingertips rested on Gendry’s stubble.

“I know, I know. But I will not force you to be the lady you fear me to want.” Gendry murmured, his eyes growing dark with worry and fear of rejection.

“I understand.”

The matter wasn’t discussed further, not until just two days after that Arya met Gendry before dinner, asking if he thought the children would be ready for Arya be a part of Gendry’s life, as more than an advisor. Gendry felt like he could’ve cried with glee, but contained himself at the dinner, his tone serious as he explained to the children how nobody would ever replace their mother, but Arya was here to stay and they were slowly seeing where things would go. That, of course, resulted in a flood of questions from the two girls and a boy, but slowly they sorted out every question they could, and without noticing it, Gendry was smiling happily again, happier than in years.

 

* * *

 

Five months after Arya and Gendry had told his children of their strange, but loving relationship, Arya was standing in the middle of the library, angrily pointing at the map that had a few pieces scattered around a particular house surrounded by a village.

“You’d be mad giving your support to Penrose! _The lord is a_ fucking _lunatic_!” Arya argued, fire in her eyes as she tried to get her point across.

“I can’t do nothing?! The smallfolk are suffering and if I do nothing, there will be more bloodshed! I need to go talk to the mad lord, to sort it out. Then I can have his head for treason.” Gendry waved his hands around, as Arya didn’t seem to be getting his point that he was trying to make.

“You’d go there yourself? You’re even stupider than I thought.”

“That’s the only change. It’s not like the lord would open the gate for someone I sent instead of me. It has to be or it’ll just make his madness worse!”

“You’re so fucking stubborn. Gendry, I won’t risk your head for this, I love you too much for that--”

“You what?”

“What?”

“You said you loved me.”

“… Did I?”

“… You did.”

Long silence.

“I love you too.”

“I _still_ won’t let you fucking go there. Alright, bullhead, look, I could send in a small force from the back…”

 

* * *

 

As Gendry rode back from the Penrose estate, after a two-week long siege of the house and the making the son of the late mad lord the head of the house. Arya was standing at the gate in the moonlight, smiling at him. As Gendry dropped from the back of the horse, Arya was already there, pressing a soft kiss on his lips.

“You alright?” she murmured against his lips, taking his hand gently to hers. Gendry mumbled something about the madman of a lord, when his heart almost stopped.

Arya had pressed his hand against the swell of her stomach, the slight bump between her hipbones distinct through the thin cloth of her nightshirt.

“Arya, you --”

“Maester Pyne confirmed it last week. I’m with your baby.”

When Gendry had been riding back to Storm’s End, he had been longing for a hot bath and a good night’s sleep, all of his muscles aching and tired from almost three weeks on a road, but now all that seemed to slip his mind as he picked Arya up, laughing and hugged her with all his might.

 

* * *

 

Gendry was sure the babe in Arya’s belly was a dragon or some other fire-breathing legend. It would explain Arya’s mood, as the babe was pressing against her guts at eight months, her belly bigger than he remembered anyone’s ever being. Gendry helped Arya get up to the wagon, pulled by two sure-footed horses the king himself had sent to them.

Arya had sweat on her brow, and even if she freely took her annoyance out on Gendry, who was the reason she was so incredibly uncomfortable in the first place, she still had patience to sit next to Alyce, who was raving on and on about the sword her father had promised to make her  when they got to North, while Arya would be recovering from the birth with the baby.

 

Gendry and Arya were heading to North with all three children, that were about to be four. They only had a small company of guards and a wetnurse with them as they were traveling North.

When Arya had found out she was pregnant, she had immediately turned to her Queen sister. So when Gendry returned to Storm’s End, Arya had stopped him before he even had time to propose.

She and Sansa had a plan that would leave everyone happy; Arya would travel up North to have her baby, and as the babe would be born in wedlock, it would be named Snow. Of course, Gendry was against that, as was Arya, for they both knew what life was awaiting a bastard child, so as the child was still only few days old, Sansa would legimize the baby as a child of the House Stark. It was what Arya wanted, and Gendry had nothing against it – not that he would dare to go against the will of a pregnant she-wolf that was known for stabbing the Death itself and mapping out the Westlands.

 

* * *

 

“I decided I don’t want this anymore – Gendry, _get it fucking out of me_!!” Arya screamed, face sweaty and hand gripping tightly at Gendry’s, who felt sick to his stomach remembering the last time his lover had given birth and died in his arms – even though Arya was healthy and even a bit over her time, the thought wrenched Gendry’s gut.

A few more pushes and Arya cursing out all the old gods and the new and some Gendry didn’t even know, as well as Gendry for ever coming near her and especially the wetnurse who was being way too positive as she wasn’t pushing a child out of her body, Gendry was finally holding his youngest daughter. The girl had pink skin and was screaming loud enough to wake up half of Winterfell, but he didn’t even mind as Gendry felt hot, relieved tears escape the corners of his eyes as he put the baby girl on Arya’s arms, as she laughed to her firstborn, cooing with her raspy voice to the daughter of Winterfell.

 

* * *

 

Gendry was finally able to wed Arya after she had given birth to a Stark child like she had wanted. As soon as Arya recovered and the family of six rode back to south, to Storm’s End, Gendry announced he and Arya would have their wedding before the next new moon.

As Alyce and Alessa spread the wildflowers to her way, Gendry couldn’t help but stare at Arya Stark, the love of his life, walk down to Gendry’s side, as she always should have.

Arya had even worn a gown, even if it was questionable how proper it was for a wedding – still, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

As Gendry put his cloak of yellow and black over her shoulders, he felt something finally click into it’s place. Arya smiled up to him, beaming with love and pride, as she lifted her own cloak of grey onto his shoulders; they had decided it was not just Gendry protecting Arya, but Arya protecting Gendry as well and as they were married and Arya was made the Lady of Storm’s End, they had insisted the maester and all the advisors that all changes and decisions were run through both of them; they would rule the Storm’s End and Stormlands as equals, for neither wanted it any other way.

"Took a long way to get here, but here I am." Arya smirked in her vows, and even though it was completely against the rules and all kind of wrong, Gendry couldn't help himself as he bent down the tiniest bit to peck a quick kiss on her wife-to-be's lips. 

 

* * *

 

Two years after they had gotten married, on the eve of Alyce’s thirteenth nameday, as Gendry was lying in bed, reading to two-year-old Catelyn Stark cuddled next to her father, Arya snuck into their shared bedchambers, bending down to kiss Gendry softly, smirking against his lips.

“It seems that the seed really is strong, love. Maester Pyne just confirmed in around seven moons we’ll have a little Baratheon running around.” Arya whispered into her husband’s ear, who almost fell from the bed as he tried to get on his feet as fast as he could, laughing as he picked Arya up to kiss her, the girl with midnight-black locks and grey, curious eyes giggling on her bed, even if she didn’t know what for.

 

And that night, as Gendry laid down next to his wife he had proposed to over 10 years before, his family sleeping under the same roof safe and sound, Gendry looked out to the sea one more time silently in his mind thanking it for bringing his family to him. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear there won't be any more chapters

**Author's Note:**

> i might add a second chapter to this because i need some happiness in my misery but who knows if i ever get around to do that with my 18734 other wips


End file.
